


There Will Be Time

by BlueEyesBlueSkies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyesBlueSkies/pseuds/BlueEyesBlueSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I ship this couple so hard, but had yet to take on any sort of ficlet about them, because there are already so many great ones out there! After watching and re-watching (and re-watching and re-watching) Mumford & Sons and Baaba Maal on the Tonight Show performing There Will Be Time, I thought this song may be the perfect inspiration for a little Sandor/Sansa one-shot. </p>
<p>Fluff and smut!</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Be Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! I ship this couple so hard, but had yet to take on any sort of ficlet about them, because there are already so many great ones out there! After watching and re-watching (and re-watching and re-watching) Mumford & Sons and Baaba Maal on the Tonight Show performing There Will Be Time, I thought this song may be the perfect inspiration for a little Sandor/Sansa one-shot. 
> 
> The main lyrics of inspiration:  
> In the cold light, I live to love and adore you  
> It's all that I am, it's all that I have  
> In the cold light, I live, I only live for you  
> It's all that I am, it's all that I have
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please drop a comment with your thoughts! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Necessary Disclaimer:   
> I’m the author of this story. GRRM is the source of the original work. I don’t own anything. This story is simply intended for enjoyment of the readers. Please don’t sue me!

Sansa raced back to her room, Shae’s warning echoing in her ears of what men do when their blood is up from the heat of a battle. She pushed open the heavy door, silk skirts sweeping patterns into the dust on the floor as she twisted to quickly twisted to shut it and bar herself in for the night. Moving to the little table next to her only window, Sansa felt like the very air crackled with tension this night. The room lit up in a cacophony of white and green and orange flames as with shaking hands she struck the match to lite her only remaining candle. 

“Blow it out,” a heavy voice rasped behind her. Sansa yelped with alarm as she turned to face the man looming in the corner of the room, and the fire pricked her thumb before she blew the match out. The scent of sulfur filled her nostrils, stinging tears raising to her eyes as she stood frozen, debating retreating towards the table behind her or moving forward to the huddled frame. 

“Shouldn’t you be defending your King,” she questioned, proud of how cold her voice sounded, proud of how she managed not to drip disdain at the mention of Joffrey. 

The Hound snorted from the corner, his great shoulders shuffling against the wall as he shifted his weight on the floor. “Don’t act like you would be sad to see him dead, little bird.”

Her pulse quickened, crimson flushing her cheeks as she realized he’d seen right through her all along. As if reading her thoughts, he continued, making shivers of fear dance down her spine. “You may have said the pretty words, worn the pretty clothes, pronounced the pretty thoughts, but I see the ugly truth behind your eyes, little bird. I see the darkness you can’t quite hide with the light.”

Sansa hadn’t realized she’d taken two steps back in fear until her back bumped the table, knocking the candlestick to the floor with a clatter. She sucked in a gasping, shaky breath before sinking down to her knees the dirty floor, pale skin flushed with fear as cold droplets of sweat gathered on her arms and legs. “I don’t-“ she started, pausing at the whining sound of her voice to suck in a steadying breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she started again, fighting against the strain she heard creep into her words. 

“Don’t you, little bird?” His mocking tone pricked her pride, made her forget for a moment her fear as she bristled with anger. 

“What’s it got to do with you?” She snapped, unable to hide the irritation behind her careful courtly mask any longer. “Why do you care how I feel about my King, Hound? Why does it matter to you, as long as all I ever show the world are my pretty thoughts, pretty words, pretty clothes? Are you going to run back to your master, dog? Are you going to tell him what I think in secret, what I know that only you can see?”

Fabric rustled again, and by the green light of the flames in the Blackwater Bay, Sansa saw him raise his head, black eyes piercing hers through the darkness. “I already have,” he said quietly, calmly. 

She sucked in a breath, chest heaving as her thoughts spiraled out of control. “You told Joffrey?” She accused, barely above a whisper, pain evident in her voice. 

He shook his head, and as another jolt of fire lit up the sky, she saw the sadness creasing his scarred face. “No, little bird. I could never betray you.”

Sansa bit her lip, her fear ebbing as she thought back to what she’d said, and tried to understand. “Then what have you done?” She mused softly, tilting her pale face in thought. 

He sighed, the puff of air draining the last of the tension from his shoulders as he hung his head again, sweaty hair drooping down past his face. “I’ve come back to my master, little bird,” he rasped, a whisper in the dark so thick with emotion Sansa could nearly taste it as her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks flushed once more.

She swallowed thickly, her heart fluttering once more, this time from something far more dangerous than anger or fear. “Sandor-“ her voice broke, and he held up a hand stained with blood and shook his head from where it fell across his chest. 

Sansa blinked back the prick of tears as her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. “Sandor,” she tried again, a whisper on a breeze as it floated across the stone floor to the warrior sunk in shame before her. 

His eyes raised to meet hers just as an explosion pierced the night, and by the light of green flames she saw the pained crease of his brow, the hopeful longing thick in his eyes, the resignation to a life of disappointment flaring his nostrils, and it nearly broke her heart. His eyes searched her face, and she let the mask fully drop, let him see what she’d always been trying to hide, for so long. She let him see how much she longed for him to make her mine, for him to free her from Joffrey and the others, for him to take her somewhere they could live out their days, alone in the forest, together until the end of time. She let him see how she longed for his touch as her breath quickened her chest, she allowed the longing to pull at her eyes until she was pleading without words for him to, finally, allow himself to break free, allow himself to feel. 

“Little bird,” he whispered, gravelly voice sending heat between her thighs, and before she could stop herself Sansa pushed herself up on her knees and forward, until her soft palms rested on the thick stone floor, and she crawled, silks sliding into dust and grim, knees digging into the dirt, she crawled to him, her heart on her sleeve, her heart in her throat, she crawled to him until she rested inches from his outstretched feet. 

And while his mind screamed at him to remember his place, to remember hers, his hands shot out to enclose her fragile arms, pulling her off of her knees and onto his lap, her thighs spread wide by his own, her chest pressed against his, her face mere inches from the ugliness he so desperately wished he could still hide behind. But she saw him, truly saw him, and the acceptance and desire swirling in her eyes made his heart beat fast and his nerves sing as he held her in his lap, finally able to touch her in the way he had dreamed of for so long. 

But he wasn’t a fool, and with regret in his eyes Sandor shook his head, swallowing back his hurt as pressed her firmly. “You are a maid, promised to be a Queen one day. I can’t take that from you, little bird,” he rumbled, sorrow as it hit him how very true his words were, and how very wrong it was of him to have her in his lap, in his arms, with thoughts of having her in his bed. 

Until she spoke, and then all thoughts of right or wrong flapped on little wings, lifted by his little bird straight out the window as they caught on fire in the bay. “Make me your queen, Sandor,” she whispered, a smile playing about her pert mouth, her eyes glittering with emotion, as she brought her small hands up to press gently against the armor covered in blood, resting on his broad shoulders. His mouth opened in protest, until one slim finger came to rest gently against his lips. “Make me your queen, Sandor,” she whispered again, eyes blinking heavily at him as she watched the way his lips pressed softly into her delicate finger. 

“Little bird,” he groaned, hopeful eyes turning once more to meet hers, searching for the truth, widening in amazement when he saw the love shining in her soft eyes. 

Sansa swallowed thickly, bringing both of her palms up to gently rest against his cheeks, one scarred and one smooth, and she let a soft smile play about her lips. “Don’t make me plead with you, Sandor,” she teased, his groan at her words sending fresh heat down to pool low in her belly. 

He raised two thick hands up to cradle her own cheeks as he gazed purposefully into her eyes. “You will never plead for anything, ever again, little bird,” he said fiercely. “As long as I walk this earth, I will give my every breath to make you want for nothing, for as long as I have, until my heart beats no more in my chest.”

Sansa’s lips pulled wide into a loving smile, teeth flashing in the night as she lightly squeezed the two cheeks she carefully cradled in her own small hands. “As long as I may call you mine, for the rest of my days, Sandor Clegane, I will want for nothing,” she promised him, heart racing faster at the look of adoration shining in his eyes. 

“Aye, little bird,” he affirmed, voice choking on the thick swell of emotion in his chest. “I am yours, for the rest of your days, for the rest of mine, and beyond that too.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks to wet his calloused fingers as she smiled so brilliantly it lit up the dark corners of his soul he’d long since thought dead. “And I will be yours, Sandor Clegane, for the rest of your days, for the rest of mine, and beyond that too,” she echoed, giggling when she saw the joy shine so clearly on his eager face. “Now make me yours now, Sandor,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as she brought her lips to hover above his. “Make me yours tonight.”

With a growl, Sandor slipped one hand back to thread in the silky strands of her hair as he pushed her soft lips to his. He poured everything he could not say into the slide of his lips against hers, his heart racing faster and faster, pounding in his ears. She breathed a delicate sigh as she collapsed fully on top of him, her scarce weight pressing deliciously against him, and with a grunt of annoyance he realized there were far too many clothes separating him from the feel of her skin against his. 

She giggled at his impatience as she felt his fingers begin to struggle with the laces of her gown, and she pulled back to shoot him a smirk as she raised her fingers to start to pull the ties. “Too many clothes,” he grumbled, but the amusement dancing in his eyes betrayed him, and she giggled once more as she pulled the laces wide. 

“Too much armor,” she nodded with a raised eyebrow, and his snort of laughter made her heart warm in a whole new way this evening. Pulling back off of his lap, Sansa pushed herself to stand before him, reaching down to gently tug his hands to bring him to stand. As he started to unfasten and remove pieces of armor, Sansa licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Sandor,” she called, swallowing for courage.

“Hmm?” He hummed in question, head bent as he finished with the armor and began to remove his mail, pulling it over his head until only his breeches remained. 

“Sandor,” she whispered again, the teasing lilt in her voice making his head snap up sharply as his mail clanked to the floor. His jaw dropped open and the air flew out of his lungs in a rush at the sight before him, lit up in green from behind from the fire in the bay. She was as naked as her name day, all pale skin and long legs, a dark thatch of curls between her thighs, perfectly pink nipples taut and pebbled already. And when he raised his eyes to hers, he couldn’t help the smile of adoration washing over his face.

“So beautiful, little bird,” he whispered huskily, noting her pleased flush at his words, watching in awe as it travelled from her neck, down her chest, to those perfect little nipples calling his name. As his hand reached up of its own volition he quickly snatched it back down and raised his eyes back to hers in question.

“If you do not touch me soon, Sandor, I may die of apprehension.”

His grin was wolfish as he closed the distance between them, dropping to his knees before her so he could draw one of those little nipples into his mouth, caressing and teasing the other with his calloused thumb. She sighed with delight and threaded her fingers through his hair, oblivious to the mud and grease from the battle, eyes shut tight as she tried not to swoon. The pleasure rolling over her made her belly tighten and her thighs twitch, desperate for friction as she shifted under his careful teasing and worshipful kisses. He trailed his tongue from breast to breast, claiming the other nipple with his mouth, while one thick hand slowly slipped across her ribs, down around the curve of her hip to cup her backside. Sansa couldn’t help the moan of pleasure as his fingers kneaded her flesh, and she flushed scarlet with embarrassment as he chuckled against her breast, pulling back to look over her pale flesh with a glint in his eye. He had hardened nearly to the point of pain in his trousers already, and her moans of pleasure when he cupped her curves made him nearly spill in his pants.

“Little bird likes her teasing a little rough,” he whispered playfully, returning to slide his tongue down across her waist to her navel, dipping in before trailing to her hip. He peppered soft kisses back up over her abdomen and chest, coming to stand once more before her as he gently pushed her back to spread out on her bed, coming to crawl overtop her. Sliding one hand gently between her thighs he parted them, and then traced light patterns up and down until he slowly circled closer to her curls, while he placed hot kisses from across her neck. 

Spreading her legs wider, Sansa bucked up into him as one circle came so close to where she needed him before arching away. “Please, Sandor,” she cried, voice thick with need. 

One long finger pushed between her curls and her netherlips, and he growled at the wetness dripping out to dampen the tops of her thighs. “Are you wet for me, little bird?” His raspy voice sent a new wave of heat between her thighs, and Sansa arched her back as his finger found her swollen nub of pleasure. 

Her legs started to shake as he pressed and circled and teased, gathering wetness and bringing two fingers to slowly push into her core while his thumb continued to circle her. “Yes, Sandor,” she breathed, head thrown back in pleasure as her hands bawled into fists around his strong arms, fingertips digging into his biceps. She forced her eyes open, blinking hazily around her lust as she raised her gaze to his. “I am wet and wanton, all for you.”

His groan of pleasure made her hips jolt, and she cried in frustration as he removed his hand and slide back down the bed. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg,” she whined, writhing in dissatisfaction as he chuckled darkly. Sansa turned her head and watched as his breaches slipped down over her hips, and she gasped at the sight of him, fully erect, thick and larger than she’d ever thought possible. 

“It will hurt the first time, little bird,” he warned, and she nodded as her eyes traced over the ripples of muscles and faded cuts and scars marking his body. 

“You are so beautiful, Sandor,” she told him fiercely, reaching out a hand for him. He smiled as he threaded his fingers through hers and raised her arm above her head, climbing between her thighs once more as he rested his weight on his elbow. 

“You are so beautiful, Sansa,” he whispered, testing her name on his lips for the first time. 

She smiled wide, spreading her legs as she bucked up to rub her wetness against the tip of his hardness, making him groan and his eyes roll back in pleasure. “Ready, little bird?” He asked tightly, throat taut with need.

She nodded, giving him a shaky smile, and she felt as he slowly pushed himself into her dripping wet core. She felt a slight sting as her maidenhead gave way, and then suddenly he thrust in until his hips smacked into hers and he was buried to the hilt. She watched as his eyes rolled back into his head and he grunted with pleasure above her, his arms rippling as he fought to shakily hold onto his self-control. 

Sansa pressed her eyes shut tight at the prick of tears threatening to spill, and then his lips her slowly moving over hers, his tongue teasing the seam, and as she opened her mouth to him it plunged in to dance and slide and tangle with hers, leaving her breathless as she began to writhe under him anew. “Move, Sandor,” she panted, twisting her hips once more and gasping with pleasure at the feel of him within her. 

He growled, bending to nip at her pulse point while he started a slow rhythm, his fingers still threaded with hers while he moved within her. Sansa’s hips rose up of their own accord to meet him, and her cries of pleasure drove him to speed up his pace, until he was all but slamming her into the bed, the frame rattling against the stone wall and floor as he pounded into her. He felt her walls clench down, convalescing around him as she peaked and screamed his name, her fingers tightening as she threw back her head, and with several sharp thrusts he joined her, grunting as he spilled his seed within her, rolling off to gather her into his side. 

With a delightful little sigh she tucked into the crook of his neck, throwing one leg over his muscular thigh and one arm lazily tracing over the scars on his abdomen. “That was… amazing, Sandor,” she whispered breathlessly, and he chuckled with amusement.

“I am glad it was satisfactory, little bird,” he teased her, smiling as he shut his eyes. 

She tweaked his nipple playfully, shaking her head as she pushed up on an elbow to peer over him. “Say my name, Sandor. Say my full name.”

He swallowed, eying her with confusion as he did as she bid. “Sansa Stark.”

She shook her head fiercely, eyes blazing with more fire than the Blackwater as her curls danced over his chest. “I love you, Sandor Clegane,” she said, making his breath catch in his throat.

“I-“ he stuttered, biting the inside of his lip before starting more firmly. “I love you, Sansa,” he said, his heart fluttering strangely as he saw her shake her head again. “I love you, Sansa Stark?”

Her smile lit his soul as she shook her head once more, her eyes dancing with love as he watched her with adoration. “I am no longer a Stark, Sandor. We said our vows and consummated them.”

With a hitch in his breath, he tried one last time. “I love you, Sansa Clegane.”

With a wide smile, she brought her lips down to press against his. “And I love you, Sandor Clegane. Lord of my heart, keeper of my happiness, light of my soul. And I will love you, all the days of our lives.” 

The End


End file.
